Trapped (for now) by a little round pill

She fumbles through the night alone. Weary,
worn and tired. Smaller in her life
than she had ever known. Praying no one
catches on to the lies that keep her here.
One more night, one more swallow, will it be
enough this time to avert the crushing
low? The dreams she once believed in, withered
dry beneath her worn leather mary-janes.
She is shrinking now, she can feel herself
dissolve, this is not the affect she planned.
But her image in the mirror suggests
she won't take this sitting down anymore.
Determined to become the leading role
in her story once again. Emptying
out the contents of her pocketbook, she
turns on her heels, determined walks away.

Our assignment was to write a sonnet using iambic pentameter about a piece of art we saw at the Portland Art Museum. Below is the piece of art that I very loosely based my poem on.

Gregory Crewdson - Blind Reflection

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